


Define a Partnership

by vands38



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Affection, Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Date Mates, Queerplatonic Relationships, Season 1, Season 2, Sharing a Bed, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, hand holding, they both have ptsd, they're basically married - up to you how you interpret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vands38/pseuds/vands38
Summary: The FBI handbook states that one ought to have a "good working relationship" with one's partner. Scully always thought that line was fairly self-explanatory until she met Fox Mulder.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	Define a Partnership

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe that me, a 90s child, somehow missed the goddamn X Files. Anyway, I've been watching it for the first time, and the soft affection between these two in the early eps _kills me_. I just needed to work through all those feelings somehow and produced what I'm sure is a very generic X Files fic. 
> 
> This is set vaguely in season 1 & 2\. No spoilers in the comments please! I also wrote this in approx 2 hours on my phone so please forgive me any errors.

The FBI handbook states that one ought to have a "good working relationship" with one's partner. Scully always thought that line was fairly self-explanatory until she met Mulder. Within a week of their partnership, she found herself questioning what exactly constitutes a "good working relationship" when it comes to Fox Mulder. 

I.

It's long past midnight when she finishes the autopsy; she's tired, and cranky, and her back aches from being hunched over the body for so long. She expects the hallways to be deserted at this hour but when she walks out of surgery there is the peculiar sight of one Fox Mulder slumped over in a chair. 

He jumps to attention at the sound of the closed door and starts striding towards her. His suit is crumpled, his entire appearance disheveled and drained of colour, as if he too has not slept at all tonight.

"What are you still doing here?" Scully manages to ask, ignoring the traitorous clench of her heart as she disposes of her surgical gloves.

Mulder gives a one-armed shrug, and holds out a cup of coffee for her – cream, no sugar, just as she likes it. "I wanted to know the autopsy results. It couldn't wait."

Scully nods and pretends that she doesn't feel disappointed at the revelation that this is no more than a work call. Their fingers brush as he hands her the coffee, and she pretends she doesn't feel that too.

II.

They've hugged before, of course they have – in relief, in despair, in extraordinary circumstances. Scully is fairly certain that this falls within the parameters of a "good working relationship". She remembers embracing past colleagues in moments of high-emotion. Perhaps it’s just that, in their particular line of work, moments of high-emotion come round fairly often. A day rarely goes by when they don't embrace for some reason or another.

And if, sometimes, it's not a spontaneous act of relief, but an act of comfort… his strong arms, his warm weight, his scent blanketing her in a sense of safety… then that must only go to show the strength of their professional partnership.

III.

"We should discuss this over dinner," Mulder says one evening. "I've a hankering for pizza."

"You've always a hankering for pizza," Scully responds absently, her attention still taken by the case notes before her. They're in some town in some state chasing some monster who may be human or not-human; these wild, abnormal adventures of theirs seem to become more routine by the day. 

Mulder reaches across the paperwork to cover her hand with his.

Scully startles – at the unexpected interruption, of course – and looks over at him quizzically. 

"Pizza," he reminds her.

She sighs and rubs her tired eyes, glancing over to the digital clock that indeed confirms it's long past standard working hours. "Fine," she concedes, looking back at Mulder just in time to see his victorious smirk, "but you're paying."

"Naturally," he says, mock-offended. "I am a _gentleman_ , Scully, and in my books, a gentleman should never ask a delightful woman to dinner unless he is capable of picking up the tab."

Scully hopes her flush is hidden by the low-lighting of the motel room. "A gentleman?" she jests as she gathers her jacket and handbag, "Is that what you are?"

He opens the door with a flourish and a bow, and Scully rolls her eyes. Outside, he offers his arm to her, and she takes it, playing into his game.

As they walk arm in arm to their car under the warm amber of streetlamps, Scully reassures herself that this is not a date.

It is not the first time during the evening that she has to remind herself of the fact.

IV.

Sometimes even their usual brand of dangerous work gets a little too dangerous for her liking. Mulder lying motionless in a hospital bed is certainly one of these times.

More often than not, it's Scully in the line of fire – due to her gender, or her relationship with Mulder, or because Mulder is right there beside her and they're both on death's door – but being outside of that looking in gives her a whole new perspective on the way Mulder looks at her after a near miss. 

Nearly losing him makes her want to hold on all the tighter.

No wonder he's always reaching for her afterwards and holding her close. No wonder he's always watching her out the corner of his eye for a few days afterwards as if reassuring himself that she's alive. No wonder that his touch is so delicate, as if he's stepping through a minefield of broken glass to reach her.

Scully finds herself doing the very same to him now. He looks so _fragile_ in this hospital bed. She camps at his bedside and holds his hand as tightly as she dares, needing the anchor of touch but afraid to hurt him even further. And she can't take her eyes off him – watching his chest move up and down in a regular rhythm is the most reassuring sight in the world, and the sound of his heartbeat through the monitor may as well be Mozart. 

She understands, with new startling clarity, just how wretched Mulder must have felt when she disappeared. The possibility of her death without any of these reassurances must have been torture. If he is affected by their relationship even half as much in return, the experience must have been agony. 

It is just professional concern, she tells herself, when tears threaten to fall at the sight of his prone body. _He is my friend. I would miss him._

She is fairly certain that friendship is allowed within the bounds of a "good working relationship" and she gently squeezes his hand as if reassuring herself of the fact.

V.

In retrospect, they've always been lucky in terms of finding appropriate accommodation. Despite rarely booking ahead, there have always been multiple motels with multiple rooms, but then they are chasing a suspect through town after town, and he doesn’t seem to rest until he reaches a little Midwestern town currently hosting a convention of some sort.

Scully learns over the desk to speak directly to the motel manager, "You mean to say that you're fully booked?" Her voice is laced with frustration; it's been a long drive and this is the third and last motel in town. If this man can't help then they'll be sleeping in the car or on the street, neither of which seem particularly appealing.

"I mean to say," he explains tiredly, "that we do not have _two_ single rooms available. I have _one_."

Mulder chooses that moment to saunter through the door – "We'll take it," he says, unfurling a roll of cash and counting it as he goes. "How much?"

It's an extortionate amount given the standard of the motel and the size of the room, and Scully doesn't look forward to explaining it on the expenses form when they return.

Mulder, naturally, starts compiling spare blankets to form a rudimentary bed on the carpet.

"What are you doing?"

Mulder looks around the room comically, "Uh. Going to bed?"

"You're still recovering from your injuries. Let me take the floor."

"No. No way, Scully. You drove all the way here," he says, stopping her approach with a firm but gentle hand on her sternum. 

"Either we can fight about this like children," Scully reasons, removing his hand, "Or we can share the bed like adults."

Mulder raises his eyebrow as if to make the obvious jibe that 'sleeping isn't what adults normally do when they share a bed' but seems to reconsider actually saying something so inappropriate. Scully keeps her eyes stern and focused, refusing to be embarrassed by such a simple matter. She has shared a bed before with friends and siblings. Surely, this was no different.

Mulder sighs like a petulant child and drops the blanket he had been holding. "It's a small bed, Scully," he says, likely in one last bid to protest. "It's a small bed and I'm a grown man. I hardly fit in that thing as it is. If we share, you'd practically be on top of me. I don't know if the FBI would consider that a _professional arrangement_."

The words stall Scully. He is right. She feels duly chastised. She should not even have offered. It was unprofessional. "You're right," she says, stepping back with her eyes averted. "I apologise. I'll take the floor –" 

His hand wraps around hers, stilling her movements. "I didn't say that we _shouldn't_ ," he whispers.

Her eyes flick towards his, faster than she thought possible. He cannot possibly be implying what she thinks he's –

"We're friends, right?" he asks.

Scully's pounding heart drops – in relief, in disappointment – and, untrusting her words, chooses to nod in response.

"Right…" he says, "and friends can share beds. Perhaps, if our superiors were to ask…"

"We tell them I took the floor," she nods, agreeing to his plan.

Mulder scoffs. " _I_ took the floor –"

"We _both_ took the floor?"

"That's ridiculous, they'll never believe…" Mulder's eyes stray to the bed behind them, and then back to her with a cunning tilt of his head. "Unless... it had lice?"

Scully smiles. There was never a mystery Mulder couldn't solve. With the state of this motel, that is a lie that no FBI agent would question. "It had lice," she confirms with a smirk.

He smiles back at her, and it sends her heart pounding once more. That night, they lie awake, only inches away from each other, and Scully pretends to sleep, plagued with the notion of what would happen if they lay just a little closer.

VI.

Scully stops counting how many non-dates they go on. They spend an inordinate amount of time together. 

One weekend when she visits her sister, Melissa teases that she'll never find a husband because she's already married. Scully willfully misinterprets this barb at being about her work, and not her work _partner_ , but she catches Melissa's raised eyebrow when Mulder calls her midway through lunch, and knows exactly what she meant.

He wasn't even calling about the case. He was asking if she fancied trying the new sushi restaurant that opens tomorrow night.

VII.

Sometimes the work they do haunt her for days afterwards. After her disappearance, this becomes especially true. She'll wake in the night, shaking and terrified, seeing the outline of an alien creature before her, and turn on the bedside light in a panic, only to see the outline of her dressing gown hanging on the back of her door instead.

The shrink asks her why she doesn't tell Mulder about these visions, and she finds it hard to explain exactly why. She just knows what it feels to watch Mulder fight his own inner-demons – feeling desperate to help him, yet unable to do so – and she doesn't want to put the same burden on him.

She catches him watching her though – in that same guarded way that she has grown to understand as his wary concern – and realises that lying to him is likely just as damaging as telling him the truth.

So, she tells him, and he holds her, and he makes her promise that the next time she is plagued by restless nights and harrowing visions, that she will call him.

What surprises Scully the most is that she _does_. She stumbles out of bed that night, running from the monsters still taking up the edges of her vision, and fumbles for the telephone in the living room.

It takes a couple of rings for him to pick up, and every shrill sound feels like a lifetime, but then he's saying, "Dana?" in that soft, sleep-heavy voice of his – the voice that reminds her of the familiarity of motel rooms and the comfort of his embrace – and she finds herself curling into the armchair as if she could curl around his very voice. "Dana, are you okay?"

And she thinks that she just might be.

VIII.

Another emotional embrace after another horrifying mission, but this time, as his head rests atop of hers, she swears she feels his lips pressed against her hair.

Her heart swells as she clings onto him. 

Mothers do this to children, she justifies to herself. It's a sign of affection, of _friendship_ , there is no need for her to recall that line in the handbook –

_"If, at any point, you feel like your partnership is developing a romantic or sexual dynamic, you must speak to a superior immediately, or report to HR. Failure to do so in a timely manner could result in disciplinary action."_

She breaks away from his embrace, and carries that kiss – accidental, or not – into her dreams.

IX.

They've held hands before – when running from danger, or grabbing attention, or when trying to break free from bindings – but they rarely hold hands just to _hold hands_.

But then she sees the way Mulder's breath hitches when they're watching a mandatory FBI informational video about updated kidnapping procedures and she knows he's thinking about his sister. The young actress acting out the scene on the screen before them – distressed and screaming for help – is shockingly similar to Samantha in appearance and from the way Mulder is struggling for breath, presumably her pleas for help are just as upsetting. 

She yearns to comfort him but doesn't want to risk drawing attention to him. Even a whisper in this dark and studious atmosphere could catch the eye of a superior.

Scully subtly glances around the room of field agents. They appear to be dutifully watching the video, some – like herself – are even taking notes, but then she realises that she no longer cares if someone _does_ take notice, because Mulder needs her help and she will always give it to him. She slowly reaches out and takes Mulder's hand in hers.

His breath hitches once more, presumably in surprise, before it begins to even out once again. 

His palm is clammy with distress but it's familiar and not too unpleasant, and after long minutes have passed, she can feel him relax beside her. 

Under the cover of darkness, he runs his thumb across the back of her hand, and her heart pounds at the slight movement. She looks across at him and he smiles at her – weak, but present – and she realises that his gesture was in reassurance; a way to tell her that she can let go now.

She does, regretfully, and does her best to ignore how restless her hand is for the rest of the presentation.

X.

They frequently visit each other's houses – to discuss case notes, or water the plants during absences, or sometimes simply to share a pizza and a terrible movie. 

When Mulder gave her a key, she wasn't even surprised. "In our line of work, you never know when you're going to be called away unexpectedly, and I've got fish to feed."

Scully accepted, and only afterwards did she realise the momentous trust that it belied. 

She turns up at his house one night, with a bag of greasy food in one hand, and case files in the other, and after a beer or two, passes him a key of her own. "Come round, whenever you need to."

And he accepts it, just as easily. 

She falls asleep on Mulder's sofa that night in the early hours of the morning, with the hum of the fish tank behind her, and the comforting familiarity of Mulder moving around her. She feels gentle hands guide her head to a pillow, and then the warmth of a blanket wrapped around her. "Sleep tight," he whispers, and she sighs at the sound, sleepy and peaceful. 

She feels his hands linger on her arms and the firm press of lips against the crown of her head before his footsteps echo down the hall towards his bedroom. 

She wraps herself in the comfort of his scent and the memory of his touch, and sleeps better than she has in months.

***

Assistant Director Skinner clears his throat and taps his file menacingly on the desk between them. "It has come to my attention," he says, "that you have formed a very close relationship to your partner, Fox Mulder."

Scully swallows her nerves and smooths her hand over her skirt as she sits before her superior. She feared that one day this conversation would take place, and it seems that today is the day. "We have been through a lot together," she answers evenly. "Our closeness – if that's what you want to call it – is merely a result from that, and I would say benefits our investigations tremendously. We have a good working relationship, as described in the handbook, and you can be assured that I would have reported our relationship had it developed other aspects that could confuse our professional partnership."

"Is that so?" he asks, clearly not asking at all. He flips through the papers before him, presumably all reports about her and Mulder. "So these late night phone calls, the numerous public embraces, the hand holding at the presentation, your frequent visitation to his residence, the many times you have been spotted outside of a professional capacity spending time together at restaurants and games and what-have-you, and, of course, the single bed in Vensland Park that was booked under _both_ of your names… these are all perfectly platonic interactions?"

Scully suppresses the urge to shuffle nervously in her chair. The list does indeed seem suspect when compiled so concisely but they have not done anything to signify a romantic or sexual relationship, and thus she is assured that they will not face disciplinary action. "Yes, sir," she replies evenly. "All perfectly platonic. We are… friends. If you must put a name to it."

"Hmm," he says, not seeming at all satisfied as he closes the file. "You'll be happy to hear that Mulder stuck to the same story."

Scully smiles. She is, actually, very pleased to hear that.

"We'll be watching you two closely," Skinner concludes, putting away the file. "If your relationship crosses that line at any time, I would advise that you confess it before they can _prove_ it. It's a lot less messy that way."

"Thank you, sir," Scully says, rising from her chair. "Is that all?"

"That is all," he says with a wave of his hand. "You're dismissed."

It doesn't surprise her in the slightest that Mulder is waiting outside the door for her, with a second cup of coffee in his hands. "Did you know we're having a secret clandestine affair, Agent Scully?"

She accepts the coffee, and accepts the lingering fingers as they brush against hers. "Apparently so," she says with a smirk over the rim of the polystyrene cup. "Seems we're the last to know."

Mulder tilts his head to indicate the fellow lurking several metres down the hall, clearly tasked with watching them. "It seems so. I suppose we'll have to be very careful from now on about where we choose to have our hot and steamy rendezvous."

"If by 'hot and steamy' you are referring to that Chinese dumpling shop, I have to agree. I felt like I'd been to the sauna afterwards."

Mulder laughs, and nudges their shoulders together as they walk down the corridor, past the bemused agent loitering by the water fountain. "How about that Italian deli for lunch then? I hear they have good air conditioning."

Scully laughs and allows her eyes to linger on the way the midday sun catches in his chestnut hair, turning it golden, like the best of his smiles. 

_Married_ , her sister had called them. Perhaps all good partnerships are the same concept in the end. 

"I would like that," she says, as they walk in unison down the sidewalk, their hands brushing in a way that could be easily misconstrued as accidental by any witnesses. "I would like that very much, Fox Mulder."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading -- I have a [tumblr](https://vands38.tumblr.com/) if that's your thing


End file.
